In metanoia, what really happens? So much of it transpires beyond anything we can communicate. It isn’t ineffable. We can say all kinds of things about it. The problem is with being heard and understood. We are faced with an unhappy choice: We can say what makes perfect sense to our own ears, and face the perplexity, angst and hostility of those unprepared to comprehend our incomprehensible words, or we can translate our truth to familiar terms and be radically misunderstood.

Designers face this reality with their uninitiated clients and collaborators. We can “speak the language of business” and make do with approximate and often inadequate understandings of our work and what is required to do it effectively, or we can try to teach them designerly ways of understanding so they can collaborate with us effectively, or at least support the work, or at least not make our work impossible.

In reality, coming to that understanding requires a gentle transition from the familiar to a new unfamiliar praxis. The transition is only partly mental. Much of the understanding is acquired through doing. It is intuited in the How-doing hands and in the Why-feeling heart long before the What-knowing head catches up and can chatter explicitly about the What, How and Why of the work. To get that What-How-Why to coalesce and stabilize is to have a faith. The faith is not in the content of the understanding, nor is it in the willful believing of that content. Faith is what acts behind the understanding, that makes the explicit content of belief understood and self-evidently true. But to people who think exclusively in terms of systems of explicit content this just seems like mystical vapidity, a thereless there.

This understanding of design is not just a metaphor for religion. It is a species, or maybe a region, of religious understanding. There is a designerly metanoia a person will undergo, which will effect in them a designerly faith, which will animate their being and make it possible to think, feel and act as a designer in any situation where design is needed.

But returning to the question: in metanoia, what really happens? Do we awaken slumbering mental or spiritual faculties that allow us to receive previously undetected givens? Do we reorganize or recrystallize our souls to accommodate (or accommodate ourselves to) new intuitions and conceptions? How does it happen that a person and the world are reenworlded together in an event which changes nothing and everything together in one epiphanic rush? Does this question even need resolution? Or can we let it go with the simple fact that something of our ownmost own, nearer even than the content of our most intimate belief changes, and the consequences ripple outward to and beyond the furthest edges of the universe, before the advent of time and after it.

The Chinese coins hung from my reading lamp dangling over my right shoulder, are each the size of everything. It is only the metal part of the coin that is spatially constrained. The outer edge of the metal disk radiates an infinitely extensive circle along a two-dimensional plane, symbolizing in two dimensions an infinitely extensive sphere in a three-dimensional volume. This is the environmental part of the coin. But punched in the center of the metal is an empty square. This finite square-shaped bit of space is separated from the infinite environment of the coin, but it is also continuous with it, despite its apparent separation, and this is especially apparent when we see this coin from outside its plane, in three-dimensional space. Spatially-speaking, the metal is also continuous with the interior and environmental space, and the only difference is some of the space is occupied with the metal of the coin, and the rest is occupied by space and materials understood to belong to the coin’s environment. The entire world is saturated with myriad overlapping Chinese coin environments. These coins are quite overwhelming when we intuit their actual being.

When someone is faithless to another person, this just means they have allowed themselves to reenworld to us in unfamiliar form, as strangers. And some strangeness is so estranged it does not even want reconciliation, but increased estrangement. For reasons of its own, the new faith wants to divorce itself and alienate itself from the formerly uniting faith. We call it “breaking faith” for reasons few people recall.